The Queen's Messenger
by ravenoak21
Summary: In the canon, Sherlockian/Holmesian scholars point out that Sherlock himself held some position of trust within the British government. Many point to the fact that he was called in when important documents went missing. This was, to them, an indicator that he was one of the "Queen's Own Messengers". This is my take on how that came about to be awarded to him.
1. Chapter 1

The scene from the South Bank at night was magical to the older woman ass she sat on the roof top with her younger companion. The London Eye was a light. It's reflection setting the sluggish river ablaze. The electric blue lights of the gigantic Eye and the golden lights from Westminster Square danced off the water of the Thames in between the two land marks. Bridges up and down the river formed a layered band of jeweled necklaces on the serpentine neck of England's most iconic water way.

The woman sighed in contentment. "Spending so much time below the streets one forgets how beautiful the nights can be up here."

She tipped her head back to gaze upwards. "I do wish for less light pollution. The stars seem so dim here."

"There are places in the City that block the light enough so that star gazing is possible."

Persia smiled. "This is a true treat, Mr. Sherlock. Thank you."

"No thanks necessary and please, do drop the "Mr.". You are several years my senior and, to be quite truthful, I don't like it. Sig is more then adequate."

She gave him a sideways glance. "No. I don't think it suits you at all."

A small smile ghosted across his lips. "Oh, I think it suits very well."

She felt a tingle of concern. The look on the younger man's face could almost be described as edging on the feral. The eyes going hard, glittering like shards of ice in the half light.

"Who ever he was, or is, you don't like him very much."

"Not at all."

The tone was light, almost purely conversational. Persia started to nod then caught herself and her brow furrowed into a frown. That phrase carried a double meaning. His facial expression said a deep dislike. His tone of voice gave the illusion that the name might mean nothing at all. She was a old campaigner and was more then sure that what ever was behind his use of the name was the result of a deep dislike and that some how using it brought some kind of retribution to the original owner, at least in this young man's mind.

She was curious enough about this young man's back story and history to want to know what kind of animosity lay in that name. She also knew enough about him to know that asking pointed questions got nothing then stubborn silences or a laser point glare and a grumpy companion if he didn't simply turn his back on you and walk away.

She would give him the benefit of her doubt in any case so she hesitated a few beats just in case he might give her a qualifier. When it became clear that there was to be none, she gave an inward sigh and mental shrug. This man could keep secrets and held to his own council. Then she cast one last look upwards taking in the rare clear night and the spangle of stars. Then she started to get up.

This really has been lovely but I do need to get back. Medical supplies are not cheap, not even the holistic herbs and tinctures. I have to get up early. He rose gracefully and offered her his hand. She hesitated for a moment then took it. She had a feeling this courtesy was not offered lightly nor often.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock led her off the roof top and through the park away from the business section of the city.

"Taking the scenic route are we?"

He stifled a huff of irritation. He hated having to repeat himself for any reason. He herded her down a series of ally ways and through mews until they reached an area that seemed to be deserted. There were not working street lamps and the city lights seemed dim and far away. Finally he stopped and just stood still.

"Look up."

She stopped beside him and looked up at his request and gasped. The stars were no longer dim but bright points of light easily discernible against their dark velvet back drop.

"Ooohhh." Persia breathed softly.

"If you wish I know a suite of rooms that offers an unobstructed view of the sky."

She tilted her head to him.

"The apartment building was built but never inhabited. The top floor was supposed to have a pent house with a roof top pool. All the amenities of home except electricity. And, needless to say, there is no water in the pool, except after a heavy rain. But, there is a working fireplace with fuel included and the bath is gravity fed. Cold water but the loo does work. It was to be oh so modern. Anyway, I can show you the way and you are free to use it until the city planning board gets around to deciding what they are going to do with it. Which, as things go, may take awhile."

She smiled. "It does sound wonderful and maybe I will take you up on the offer, some day. But I have to get back. I have some live in residents who need a bit of looking after. And..."

"Yes, you have to get some sleep before you hit the park in the morning."

He turned and started to lead the way back toward the ally way.

"You really love the City, don't you, Sherlock."

He paused then turned towards her. "Love. To strong a word I think. But I know it, yes. It challenges me to learn all I can about it and to store the information away. It helps in the "Work". I don't need a gps and I can be somewhere before the blokes from the Met are barely into their units. Or at least know all the short cuts. Where the construction work is and all the detours. And I am never lost."

"You store all of this in your head?"

They retraced their steps towards the path that would take her down to the sanctuary she had created below the streets of London.

"It's convenient."

Persia smiled. "I can see how it would be. Especially in the dark places like this."

They stepped out of a dimly lit mews onto a major thorough fare. It only took Sherlock a brief moment to get his bearings and he started walking again. It was not so very late but in this part of the city there seemed to be very little traffic. They walked in companionable silence, Persia taking in the sights while Sherlock let his senses take in every nuance they could bring to his over active mind.

His head dropped slightly and ticked to the left. A car sitting in deep shadow all but invisible. If the driver hadn't made a mistake of leaving his window open the consulting detective would never have caught the strong whiff of cigar smoke. The driver was present and smoking. He raised his head slightly scanning the street ahead. Some distance a head, there was an intersection. A set of traffic lights glowed green then turned to yellow. Linking arms with Persia, he steered her casually off the side walk He tested the gate on a privacy fence and when it opened freely he shepherd her in and closed it behind them.

"Sherlock"

"It's probably nothing but keep silent."

He led her around the side of the building where trees and shrubs of a small garden created shade and protection from shadow casting light from the street lamps and lit windows of varies apartments where occupants remained awake. He scanned the dark down the street from where they had come from. A short wait and the lights of a on coming car washed over the buildings as it traveled down the street creating a strobe effect as they passed by the fence they lingered behind. He caught the sound of an engine turn over catch then more head lights flashed as the car pulled on to the road way.

Sherlock ran to the gate, opened it, and looked out. Two dark colored cars where blocking the intersection while the cigar smoking driver had another car penned in from behind. Persia joined him.

"What?..."

"Shush." he barely breathed into her ear. "Follow me and keep low."

Keeping as far away from the circles cast by the street lamps as possible the two hurried up the street towards the blocked intersection. Sherlock watched as people started to climb out of the three cars. One approached the captive car and tapped on the driver's side window. The hesitation from the occupant gained nothing but irritation from the man on the out side as he pulled a gun and shot out the window in the passenger's compartment behind the driver. The driver popped his door immediately only to be pulled roughly from the car. Sherlock noticed a attache case come out with the driver as if attached to his wrist. In an instant he pulled out his cell phone and hit a speed dial number.

"Sherlock, really. This is not a good time. I am in the middle of a meeting."

"Yes, and you had better start serving the tea and crumpets, brother dear, because if what I am witnessing is any indication your quest of honor has been unavoidably detained."

There came a pause then Mycroft sighed heavily and his voice muted slightly as he lowered the phone away from his mouth.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have a situation."


	3. Chapter 3

"Where are you, Sherlock, describe to me exactly what you see."

"Intersection of A2 and B214. Four cars. Two are blocking the intersection while the third has the fourth pinned in from behind. They have pulled the driver from the pinned car and he has an attache case cuffed to his wrist. That is why I called you. So far I count seven among the ambushers. The leader is armed with a pistol of some sort with a silencer. He used it to shoot out the back passenger window of the courier's car. The tag on the rear car is PW82 MAS. All of the offending cars seem to be black or very dark blue. It's hard to tell in this reflecting light."

Mycroft sighed and closed his eyes. His brother's delivery had been rapid fire, as it always was when he was intensely focused. But how he could do that and not stumble over his words...ah well. At least it he could interpret Sherlock without too much difficulty.

"Sherlock, listen to me, very carefully. I don't have to tell you what kind of danger this represents to you or any other innocent in the area. But I need to verify if the courier is indeed the one we are waiting for. Can you, without putting yourself at any kind of risk, get his license tag?"

"Hold on a second."

"Sherlock, my question was not rhetorical...Sher..."

Mycroft gave up with a huff one hand lifting to message his temples. He should have known better then to even suggest such a venture when Sherlock was in this mode.

"Tag is LB79 PRT."

"I want you out of there, now. Security forces have been alerted and should be arriving shortly. Leave."

Sherlock's breath caught and Mycroft frowned into the phone.

The courier's mouth was stifled with a strip of duct tape and he began to struggle as the ring leader pulled a large knife. His muffled cries barely heard through the tape.

"Courier's don't carry to the key to the cuff...do they?"

"What has happened."

Persia gripped the younger man's arm, his eyes gone wide, and he blinked.

"They cut the attache case from off his arm."

"They cut the chain, you mean?"

"No, Mycroft... they amputated his hand at the wrist. They're leaving. One car headed down on B214 the Albany Road. PW82 MAS is preparing to turn right onto B203. The car carrying the attache case is backing up...it looks like they are preparing to head up A2 toward Bricklayers Arms."

"Which will give them access to Tower, London, Southwark, Blackfriars, Westminster, and Waterloo Bridges."

"And the tube stations at Lambeth, Southwark, Elephant and Castle, Borough, and London Bridge."

"You've done very well, brother. As I stated before, security forces have been alerted. We will catch them. Go home, Sherlock."

Persia was already kneeling by the writhing man's side.

"Go after them, Sherlock. We can't just let them get away. At least you can keep your brother posted on their exact route. Go. I'll call an ambulance. He will not bleed to death."

The last sentence was spoken to the disappearing tail lights of the courier's car. It had taken Sherlock only mere seconds to familiarize himself with the car's dash before he sped through the lights in hot pursuit.

000

Mycroft automatically thumbed his phone on as it rang then rolled his eyes."

"Sherlock...I told you to...what is that noise...What. Are. You. Doing."

"You know very well what I am doing."

"Tell me you're not driving. Oh, dear, lord. You are."

"There is nothing wrong with my driving skills."

"Except you are not holding a valid license at this time."

"A mere technicality."

"There are laws and consequences, Sherlock!"

"Not to worry, if I am stopped I can prove that I have commandeered this car on official business."

"And pray tell, brother dear, how you might even conceivably think of accomplishing that!"

"Oh, just something I picked up from a Detective Inspector at the Yard. It comes in handy in situations like this."

"Do I even want to know what "that" something is?"

"No, I suppose you do not."

Mycroft pursed his lips tightly. He could feel a major headache coming on and a desperate need for his glass of single malt.

"Just keep your focus on the road and both hands on the steering wheel."

"The phone is in a cradle on the dash on loud speaker. Hands free."

Sherlock pulled a face flapping his hands for a brief second before placing both hands back on the wheel.

"Sherlock!"

Sherlock's face fell into a pout.

"You are definitely no fun."


	4. Chapter 4

**I want to just thank all of you who are taking the time to read, follow, favorite and review this. As you all know, such things really help keep a writer going. I hope you keep enjoying this little story. If you have any comments good, bad, or indifferent, please do not hesitate to contact me. Love you all. As always, I own nothing pertaining to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Sherlock Holmes, or BBC Sherlock.**

On Mycroft's end the meeting had turned into tactical operations. Every device from Smart and I phones to tablets were being utilized to transmit and receive messages and information. Mycroft nodded briefly as a note was handed to him. Then he thumbed his personal phone.

"You were correct, it was the courier we were expecting. Where are you now?"

"A201. Heading toward the round about and Elephant & Castle tube."

"Very good. We are moving people to those locations even as we speak as well as blocking off A3 in case he is trying to get to Heathrow or Portsmouth. Now do you feel satisfied enough to let it go?"

"If he catches even the faintest whiff of a trap there are countless routes he could take to try and evade your blokes. You need my eyes."

Mycroft hesitated He would dearly love to find some excuse to force Sherlock to give this up. He was a civilian. He had no business being in on this mad car chase. But he realized that if their suspect did take a turn not yet covered who knows how long it would take it locate him or if they ever could. That attache case could not leave this country in enemy hands. This had been a well coordinated ambush and, as much as he might hate to admit it, Sherlock was right.

"Oh, very well. But as soon as you see the quarry stopped you pull off."

"But of course. I have no desire to be caught up in this web you're casting. I have to hang up now. Too many cars getting in between me and our quarry."

Mycroft's eye brow arched as their connection went dead. With more then a hint of regret he wished he could know half of what his younger brother was into. Why Sherlock was so taken with secrecy and going it alone. Except for the odd drugs bust his criminal record was nil. Yet he seemed to know a great deal of what was going on concerning the criminal element of London.

Try as he might the why and wherefore had so far escaped him. He had come to acknowledge his brother's genius but it had taken such an odd bent but right now, he had to admit, Sherlock was providing an invaluable service. No matter how unexpected.

Sherlock had been careful to keep several car lengths between himself and his target. Even going so far as to let some traffic to pass him but he never, for a second, let his attention or focus wander away from that car he was determined to see stopped and the driver apprehended and the briefcase handed over to Mycroft. He didn't even try to analyze the why of it only that it was what he wanted and he would see it done. There was no question in his mind, no doubt what so ever. He would succeed.

000

He knew that the roundabout was close when the sky lit up with reflected light. White and blue strobe blazed. The line of traffic braked and slowed to a standstill. Sherlock threw the gear into park and piled out the vehicle sprinting up the queue. The other occupants where also exiting their cars to see what were the matter. Sherlock had to dodge people to get that one particular car in sight, reaching for his cell as he did so, even though he imagined Mycroft's phone would be busy.

The movement was arrested and a smile touched his lips. Clever. Oh, how very clever. The boot of the suspect car slowly opened and a figure dropped to the ground. Using the other cars and milling people as cover the figure, which Sherlock shadowing, moved away from the advancing police presence.


	5. Chapter 5

**Again I want to thank all of you who are reading this. Especially those who have taken time to review. It is helpful and I am taking notes, believe me. **

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**If you enjoy Sherlock wump, there will be some in this chapter based on a personal experience.**

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**As always I own nothing pertaining to Sherlock Holmes, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and the BBC.**

There were too many possible escape routes in the area, the tube station plus any one of the three bridges, the chase could not be prolonged. Sherlock closed the gap as quickly as he could.

"I wouldn't try for the tube if I were you."

He hadn't expected an answer. This person was a fugitive and was probably prepared to fight if pushed.

"Really, mate. You don't think the coppers haven't thought to shut that down as well?"

The man slowed.

"I don't know what you blokes did, but I saw you drop out of that car. So. You're on the run. I can get you through their net."

"What the hell are you playing at kid."

"This isn't a game. You're dodging the slugs. Filth, the lot of them. Been there enough times. If you catch my meaning."

Sherlock's voice dripped with contempt.

"I know these streets. Every last back alley and short cut. Can you say the same?"

The man hesitated and Sherlock took the opportunity to step towards an open pedestrian way.

"Follow me."

Sherlock did not wait to see but started walking away. A few seconds later and he heard footsteps following. He needed a staircase but didn't want this man and the briefcase he was carrying anywhere near the tube station. When they came out onto the main thorough fare, Sherlock drifted off at a diagonal across the street heading in a westerly direction up St. Georges Road.

"Where are you taking me?"

The other side of the Thames via the bridge. Since they are watching the Tube and checking people out, there will foot traffic. Easier for us to hide."

Sherlock's trajectory would take them through a maze of side streets and pedestrian walks. Some where terraced with steps. It was for one of these he was making.

000

Sherlock stepped aside at the entrance of the alley.

"You go, I want to make sure we're not being followed."

The man started to stop.

"No, don't. Just keep walking normally. I'll be right behind."

Sherlock waited a few ticks then entered the alley. The man was making his way down the first few steps when he heard Sherlock gasp and he was slammed from behind. The two ended up at the bottom with Sherlock quickly rolling off his victim. He sighed and held up a hand as if imploring for mercy. The knife in the man's hand flashed in the half light.

"You gutter rat. That was on purpose."

Sherlock shook his head and seemed to be trying to catch his breath.

"I simply misjudged the first step in the dark. I'm sorry."

Inwardly he braced himself but when the man moved he was fast and the intent was lethal. Sherlock grabbed for the hand holding the knife and pressed his fingers hard into his attacker's radial and median nerves trying to keep the knife from slipping between his ribs but when the man's free hand found his throat he knew he was in real trouble and he had only seconds to extradite himself.

Crossing his right arm over the man's left he turned just enough so he could bring his elbow sharply up into the man's jaw just in front of his ear. The man grunted and the hold on Sherlock's throat relaxed slightly.

"Let. Go." Sherlock muttered and elbowed him again.

He felt something give under the blow and the man croaked out a scream as he fell back. Sherlock swallowed deep breaths as he went to kick the knife away. He paused then pressed his hand to his left side and felt the warm wetness. He rolled his eyes then picked the blooded weapon up. He couldn't leave it here to be found by the police or security. He fished the injured man's phone from his pocket, picked up the briefcase and walked out of the alley. He was going to have to get something to camouflage the case. He rifled the man's belt for the sheath after slipping the phone away into his own pocket knowing that it might hold some kind of intell useful to Mycroft. A few street over a side walk cafe, closing for the night, would find a table linen missing.

000

"Where have you been? The case was not found in the car you said you were following. We are holding the occupants but it can't be for much longer without due cause."

"I have it. One of the accomplices slipped by your people. He can be found in an alley off Peaman St.

Sherlock paused as a pinched feeling in his left side made him frown. He waited for it to pass then taking a breath he continued.

"I'm bringing the case to Pall Mall. No, I think not White Hall, don't you?"

"I'll send a car. Where are you?"

"I'm approaching Westminster Bridge. And don't bother with the car if you mind blood stains on your upholstery."

"How bad?"

Mycroft used used speed dial to call up his personal driver and car.

"The blade doesn't seem to have passed into the chest cavity. But I am experiencing some discomfort in the left side. Muscle spasms, perhaps."

Even as he said it a squeezing sensation in his side caught him making him bend forward and restricted his breathing.

Hearing the harsh rasping breath on the other end of the call Mycroft put a call through to his personal physician.

"Can you gauge the amount of bleeding?" Mycroft asked already moving through White Hall to rendezvous with the car.

Sherlock took a couple tentative breaths before answering.

"Actually... I am not losing a copious amount."

"Stay to the bridge. I'm coming for you."

Sherlock tried to move as naturally as possible though the constant stitch in his side left him shaky. He could feel beads of perspiration form on his upper lip and on his forehead but he was not feeling at all warm. He tried to ignore the on coming headlights but when the car pulled over and rolled to a stop beside him he took a step back. Only to be greeted with his elder brother quickly exiting the car and holding the door for him. With a silent nod, Sherlock moved forward once again and gingerly climbed in sitting more heavily then his want as Mycroft entered, shut the door and signaled the driver.

"Do you wish to lie down?"

Sherlock could only shake his head in the negative as he leaned against the door letting his forehead press against the cool glass of the window. Mycroft took in the beads of sweat and the labored breathing and held out a hand towards his brother. Sherlock's eyes slid to take him in the periphery then reached out to press his hand to Mycroft's then his eyes slid back to the window and drifted shut.


	6. Chapter 6

**I hope everyone is enjoying this. If not, don't hesitate to let me know. I am always open to suggestions. The Sherlock Wump continues. A big thank you to those who are Following, simply reading and Favoring. And I own nothing of Sherlock Holmes, The BBC nor the Estate of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.**

Mycroft hated waiting rooms just as badly as Sherlock hated hospitals yet it seemed they spent an inordinate amount of time in them. Dreadfully ironic. He rested his chin on his hands which gripped the curved handle of his umbrella.

On arrival Sherlock had pointedly ignored the wheel chair that a nurse had had waiting for them as soon as the car purred to a smooth stop in front of the entrance and then the gurney that had been called for insisting on walking into the institution under his own power despite the ever so obvious pain he was in. Slightly bent over, his breathing shallow and some what labored and pale beyond his usual colour but he had set his jaw, settled his point of focus on the glass doors and bulled his way towards them followed by an entourage of one bemused brother, a rather confused and clucking wheelchair attendant, and two men manning the gurney who were looking rather irately at Sherlock's retreating back.

Once inside they had been greeted by Mycroft's own trusted physician who, after taking his first quick glance at the sufferer, had hustled him off to an examination room. It was a testament to how badly Sherlock was actually feeling when he made no kind of snarky or rude comment what so ever. He had not balked in any way once meeting the doctor and that, more then anything, worried Mycroft no end. That had been ten minutes ago and he hadn't seen as much as a nurse walk by. He marked another ten minutes when Dr. Corby-Smyth entered the waiting room. Mycroft stood.

"Be at ease, Mycroft, and do sit down."

Mycroft immediately complied and the good doctor took a seat near to him.

"Let me first tell you that your brother was never in any danger from his wound. The weapon used came no where near a vital organ nor major blood vessel. He has lost some blood as would be expected but even that was more of an inconvenience then a threat to his life. Now, all of that said, it is a rather deep wound with damage done to a knot of muscles that lay near to the rib. A very painful situation as muscle tissue is not noted for it's ability to heal readily and they are spasming Which is constricting his breathing."

" He mentioned the spasms on the phone. I suppose that means painkillers."

"I'm afraid so. Yes, I did notice the evidence of his penchant for self medication so whatever I prescribe will be non-narcotic. He is getting stitches now. As soon as we get him settled into a room I will start him on a pain medication that should lessen the severity of the muscle contractions."

Mycroft nodded then stood. "Thank you, Dr. Corby-Smyth."

"My pleasure, Mycroft. Go home. Get what ever rest you can. We will take good care of Sherlock for you."

Mycroft nodded then turned on his heel. There were some items in the back seat of his car which needed his attention. The knife would be held in evidence against the man who had taken the briefcase from the car and then assaulted Sherlock. But what to do with the case. Sherlock had not trusted the people Mycroft had sent to apprehend the thieves who had stolen it from the courier nor had he wanted to take it straight to White Hall. Mycroft hated conspiracy theories but clearly someone had leaked the information to an unfriendly power. And the leak was a serious one. Only a very few people had been privy to when the courier and his precious cargo was to have arrived at White Hall this evening, and more importantly, what route he would be using. Maybe his brother had the right idea. He would sit on it for a few days and see what might develop. He directed his driver to take him to Pall Mall.

000

Official business kept Mycroft occupied until late afternoon before he could get away to check on Sherlock's progress. He thought he would have to stop at the nurse's desk to ask for his brother's room number. He should have known better. Sherlock's familiar rich baritone could be heard ringing down the corridor in high snit all battle flags flying.

"GET. OUT! AND TAKE THAT... WORTHLESS PLACEBO... WITH YOU!"

There was the sound of something being thrown and Mycroft quickened his pace. It would not do to have orderlies try to constrain his irate brother but neither could he be allowed to hurt someone who was only trying to do her job and help him though it was very clear that something was not right. Sherlock was obviously still in a great deal of discomfort.

"Please, Mr. Holmes. You need to take your medication."

"And. What. Part of. It's. Not. Working. Do YOU. NOT. UN-DER-STAND?". The words were being ground out with effort.

Mycroft strode into the room and stopped short. Sherlock was still in bed but the only thing keeping him there where the high railings at his back. He was on his right side, his left arm pressed into his chest just above his waist. He had pushed himself up braced by his right arm. He was clearly trembling, jaw clenched, bathed in sweat, his eyes pinched and fixed on the nurse who didn't seem to get the sense that if she continued to confront him, and he lost control, she could be in very real danger of bodily hurt.

Moving slowly but deliberately Mycroft placed himself between the nurse and his brother hopefully breaking Sherlock's focus. He placed a firm but gentle hand on her arm and steered her towards the door.

"I think it wise if you leave now. Maybe you should put a call through to Dr. Corby-Smyth."

He kept his voice evenly modulated, more for Sherlock's benefit then hers as he pushed her through the door and shut it in the face of two beefy looking male nurses and locked it. Then he slowly moved a chair close to Sherlock's bed side and sat down and met his brother's hard stare. Sherlock's eyes watching every move he made.

"How many doses have you had?"

The tableau held for a few moments then Sherlock's eyes slide away. Mycroft watched as his brother's nostrils flared as he struggled to take calming breaths but was not succeeding very well. The damaged muscles refusing to loosen enough to permit deep breathing. He swallowed deeply.

"This would have been my fourth. The first was a shot in liquid form. Two in pill."

Sherlock slowly shifted. Lowering himself fully onto his right side. His legs pulling up so he was almost in full fetal position.

"I'm just going into your bathroom. I'll only be a moment."

Mycroft found a clean flannel and ran the water until it was just a tad warmer then tepid, wet it thoroughly, rung it out then returned to Sherlock's side and started to bath his face, throat and neck. It seemed to help as Sherlock's body relaxed some what.

"They took my phone."

"Who do you need called?"

"Someone who may be able to help."

"Name and number."

"She goes by the name of Persia." Sherlock gave him the number.


	7. Chapter 7

**A reviewer brought up a point that probably should be clarified. This is pre-A Study In Pink. Sherlock is in his early thirties in the BBC version. In canon he is 27 when he gains John as his moral compass. So the "Queen's Messenger", by necessity, had to happen when in his early twenties, say 23-25 years of age.**

Mycroft pressed the wet cloth against the back of Sherlock's neck. Sherlock gave a low thrum from the back of his throat. Mycroft stood to refresh the cloth when there came a not unexpected knock on the door.

"Ignore it."

"We can't do that."

"Spea-**k **for yourself."

The knock came again followed by. "Mycroft, this is Dr. Corby-Smyth..."

Mycroft moved to the door, unlocking it, and opening it enough to let the physician in.

"Oh, dear." The doctor moved to take the chair Mycroft had just vacated.

"Did it give any relief what so ever?"

Sherlock turned a baleful eye to him.

Mycroft sighed. "Use your words, Sherlock and do be civil."

Sherlock's eyes slid to his brother then touched on the doctor then went into the middle distance as he pouted.

"No."

The doctor turned to Mycroft who could only shake his head.

"We can try..."

"I. Refuse. To be. Your ….."

"Sherlock. Not now." Mycroft made sure to put some heat into the command.

Sherlock lapsed into silence lips pursed and eyes closed as he buried his head into the pillow.

Mycroft turned to Dr. Corby-Smyth.

"May we speak in private?"

"She has served in Iraq. She is qualified." The voice was muffled but quite clear.

Both men paused.

"Sherlock says she may know something that will deal with the pain since the pharmaceutical did not."

Dr. Corby-Smyth nodded slowly.

"It's not altogether unusual to have another physician called in on certain cases. She will have to agree to consult with me though. I will want to know exactly what she would be prescribing."

"Of course. Do you agree, Sherlock?"

"Just. Call." It wasn't exactly plaintive put it ended with a deep sigh.

Mycroft thumbed his phone. It was the unspoken "please" that decided him. His brother was suffering and something had to be done and very soon.

000

Persia looked at the unfamiliar number but hesitated only for a moment.

"Hello?"

"Ms. Persia, this is Mycroft Holmes. Sherlock's elder brother."

Persia's breath caught. Sherlock would never give out her number without a very good reason and she really didn't want to think about what that reason might be, but there was no way around it.

"Is he badly hurt?"

Mycroft was mildly impressed by her astuteness.

"He has suffered a knife wound. It is not life threatening but there has been muscle damage."

"So he is most likely experiencing some kind of contractions. He hasn't refused hospital treatment, has he?"

An eyebrow lifted

"You know my brother very well. He is in hospital, yes. But the medication they gave him has not been at all effective."

"You might say we travel in some of the same circles. His attending physician is alright with calling me in?"

"He has agreed as long as you are willing to consult with him."

"Well, that is only fair, isn't it. Which hospital is he in?"

"It's private. I will have a car pick you up."

"Vauxhall, in say, forty-five minutes. I'll be carrying an old fashioned doctor's case, my grandfather's. How will I know the car? "

"Also black, with tinted windows."

000

Dr. Corby-Smyth studied the small round pellets.

"This is effective?"

"It has been proven in patients suffering from muscle strain and tears to be very effective. I wouldn't use it if it didn't work. It stops the bleeding within the muscle tissue itself thus reducing the swelling and inflammation thus reducing the spasms."

"If I may admit to being a skeptic as far as alternative medicine goes, I am willing to give this a try. The boy has been in pain for over 24 hours with no relief."

"I am not a fanatic as far as homeopathy goes. If it proves to be bogus I will not have it in my medicine chest. But if something does work and patients come to trust it, then, I don't see the harm."

Dr. Corby-Smyth stood.

"Very well. Shall we go see the patient then?"

000

Persia moved the chair closer to the bed side. Sherlock's eyes were closed but his body was tense and fine beads of sweat once again gave his face and neck a sheen.

"Sherlock."

"Seems you've been..."

"Busy? Yes indeed. First that courier and now you. Couldn't let the coppers handle it, could you? He's going to be fine, by the way. Might even be able to use that hand again."

A wane smile danced across his lips.

"They would have lost the case if I hadn't gone after him. Turned out he was to paranoid for my health."

"Can you take these for me? Just under the tongue. No swallowing them now. And certainly don't try to chew them. Just let them dissolve slowly."

She dispensed four of the tiny pills into the cap of the bottle and handed them over. Sherlock dutifully dropped them under his tongue then settled back down.

"How long before they take effect?"

"This is only your first dose. I know you're hurting but give it time."

She then went a wet a flannel and took up where Mycroft had left off over an hour before.

000

Mycroft studied the case in his private rooms on Pall Mall. He couldn't even dare to open it. That was for other hands to do though he would be studying the documents inside. The puzzle before him now was how to flush out the one responsible for this whole mess. If it hadn't been for his brother, heaven only knew where they would have wound up. A report was being readied for parliament but it couldn't be finished until the traitor was apprehended. There were one or two members of government he trusted explicitly not to be involved in this and he would be calling them first thing in the morning.

000

Mycroft entered the hospital just after supper the next evening and found the corridor outside Sherlock's room darkened and the nurses he met seemed almost to be walking on tip toes as they passed his door. Some even going so far as to put their fingers to their lips as they passed him. He felt his spirits lift. He gently eased the door open and slipped in. Only a reading lamp was on behind a chair where the woman called Persia sat curled up and reading in a softly modulated French. His eyes stole to the figure in the bed and he came to a full stop. His brother lay in repose. His body relaxed.

"Just after his fourth dose." Persia whispered.

"Surely the muscles haven't healed this quickly."

"Absolutely not. But the contractions must have loosened enough that his body's need for sleep was finally able to over ride the pain.


End file.
